Danny Phantom Vignettes
by Angeladex
Summary: Vignettes. Post-series, in-betweeners, pre-series, whathaveyou. Moments in the DP universe that I felt needed exploration. Chap 2: Valerie. She seems to constantly be waiting on Danny Fenton, of all people! It's too hot for this nonsense!
1. Clockwork's Guest

The weird, faintly glowing world that had come, in recent times, to be known as "the Ghost Zone" was as silent and eerie as ever. As it always had been, was, and would continue to be. Different "neighborhoods" of the ethereal space tolerated different levels of disturbance. As they always had, did, and would continue to. One such neighborhood – the area haunted by the ghost that called himself Clockwork – remained quiet and undisturbed. As it always had, did, and would continue to. So long as Clockwork himself had anything to say about it, anyway.

The silence was conducive to concentration, which was why Clockwork preferred it. It was much easier to observe and, yes, despite what the Observants would believe, conduct mild meddling when one's working space remained quiet and undisturbed. It was also best that the area existed here, in the Ghost Zone, rather than one of the other times or realities it had inhabited in the past; it was much easier to fix the "impurities" in the flow of time when you weren't muddling about in the middle of time and space. Being caught up in time _and_ trying to change it? That would quite easily get…messy.

Presently, Clockwork paused in his observations of one of the dozens of realities that could readily present themselves to center himself. He was expecting a visitor. And not a welcome one, either. But it could hardly be helped.

Clockwork set to preparations. That was to say, hiding things. Should the visit go sour, he didn't want anything that could alter space and time to be used as a weapon against him. It didn't mean that it _would_ help, if things did go sour. But it at least made Clockwork feel better.

He hid his time medallions, turned his viewing screens off, and made sure than any other "unsavory" souvenirs were tucked away, out of sight. When he wasn't expecting potentially unsavory guests, Clockwork liked to have things out. It told of his purpose. And if anything, Clockwork took pride in the work he did.

Sometimes his work meant making hard decisions: he saw many different timelines. Many different possibilities as to the course that time could take. And sometimes his meddling had to occur in order for things to turn out positively. But it meant that he saw what would have occurred had he chosen not to meddle in the first place. The instance with Danny Fenton's dark future self, for instance.

Clockwork had seen that future come to fruition without his interference. He had lived it. And then he had decided to meddle. He had one of his souvenirs to prove it. He eyeballed the device: a simple, unobtrusive cylinder. A "thermos" that housed a demon from a future that, if Clockwork _or_ Danny Fenton had anything to say about it, would not _ever_ come to fruition.

He had countless other such objects. A ring. The broken pieces of a wand. A collection of clay dolls. A tarot card. A stack of newspapers with alarming captions, none of which were true, now. He hid them, along with the thermos.

"I was expecting you," he said blandly as a greeting, turning toward the entrance to his abode as his visitor materialized into visibility.

"Why does _that_ not surprise me?" muttered the ghost by way of reply. He looked pristine, as always – Vlad Plasmius was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to his fastidious appearance. Especially his ghost half.

"I have…talents. When it comes to visitors entering my domain. I'm sure you have your own ways of managing such visitors?" Clockwork phrased it like a question, inflecting his tone higher, but it wasn't. They weren't here for aimless chatter. It didn't become Plasmius; he had a reason for being here.

"I…I have come –" Plasmius started uncertainly. "I have…" he frowned. "I…I need to ask for your help."

-o-

AUTHORS NOTE

This is just as stated: Vignettes. Places I could see canon going, fillers for between-the-scenes goodness. I have quite a few accrued. If this garners any interest in a dead Phandom (pun intended?) I shall post the extra chapters. :)


	2. Valerie Waiting

It had been a relatively mellow summer, all things considered. At least, if the word "mellow" could be redefined, taking into account the city in question: Amity Park. Really, the citizens considered themselves lucky if there hadn't been any catastrophically apocalyptic ghost-doings (again). They secretly harbored a persistent – if pessimistic – view of peace as a fleeting thing; likely to drift away as a passing cloud.

It was into the really searing depths of mid-July, now; summer was half-gone, and Valerie Grey was boiling. She'd been standing in the scant shade of a withered tree, keeping company with Mr. Lancer, of all people, leaning on the Driver's Ed car, which was slowly growing too hot to lean on. She checked her watch for the eleventeenth time, growling unintelligible threats about Danny Fenton, who was late. Again.

Her hair was a force of nature during the summer months, and Valerie had "contained" (which was really the best word, though it didn't actually make the heat less hot) the curly mass with a ballpoint pen, twirled and affixed expertly to keep it off of her back and neck. A strand had worked its way loose, and she sighed, tucking it behind her ear.

"Why the face, Miss Grey? Did you have somewhere else to be?" The lazy voice of Mr. Lancer was surprising; up 'til now he had been seemingly lost in a thick paperback, the utter picture of serenity, even as he mopped his bald head with a handkerchief. It had shocked her when she'd arrived, twenty minutes ago, only to see him in casual clothes: blue-jean shorts and a T-shirt with a logo for a band she'd never heard of. She'd never seen him in…normal clothes. Even the other few times this summer she'd come driving with him, Mr. Lancer had always worn his dress shirt and tie.

"I said I'd be here and _I'm_ here," Valerie muttered. "We could have been on the freeway by now. With the air-conditioner." It always weirded her out to see teachers outside of school. She wondered, for the first time, why he was stuck with Driver's Ed duty.

A page turned in Mr. Lancer's book – Stephen King's _The Stand_, if Valerie wasn't mistaken – and he slid a bookmark into place, smiling and fishing keys out of the pocket of his shorts (weird) and tossing them to Valerie. She caught them with a questioning look. The stray tendril of hair she'd tucked behind her ear slipped out again. "How has your Statistics class been going?" he asked calmly, indicating she get in the car with his open palm.

She was surprised he remembered. They'd chatted idly about it in passing…a month ago. She unlocked her door and gave the keys back to him so he could do the same. He trotted around the back of the car. The vehicle was, remarkably, undamaged. It was bedecked with signs on the rear bumper and doors that indicated it was a student vehicle. She groaned aloud getting inside, where it was, if possible, hotter than outside.

"It seems fake," she said honestly in answer to Mr. Lancer's earlier question. "I've been busting my hump to do extra credit because the math equations seem…fluid. Like they're made up, or something. It seems super fishy." She buckled her seatbelt, and Mr. Lancer graciously inserted the key into the ignition for her, turning the car on, and letting the air-conditioner start to work.

"What are you ultimately aiming for? Or are you still undecided?" His book had not reappeared. It was resting in his lap as Mr. Lancer made another pass with his handkerchief across his forehead. "We'll wait five more minutes for Mr. Fenton. He assured me he was coming when I called to remind him this morning."

Valerie resisted the urge to roll her eyes and settled for tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "Still undecided. I guess. Honestly, I'm just trying to not utterly bomb my classes." The last bit she didn't even realize she'd said aloud. Her father had told her he expected her to try her best, and she really did want to, though she knew she was kidding herself if she was going to keep up concurrent enrollment once school started up again in a few months. She was already juggling her work, her "other" job, and two other classes besides Statistics. Nine credit hours wasn't even a full course load, but she told her dad she really didn't want to give up her job, and she also had Driver's Ed to think about. Getting a license wasn't honestly a big deal to her, but she couldn't let her dad know that.

And it wasn't so bad. Driver's Ed. It was actually a pretty easy class to take, all things considered. Because she'd signed up to do it in the summer, it meant she didn't have to go with an instructor as much, because they could take longer trips. She could do an hour at a time, instead of the twenty minute slots some of the other students had signed up for before and after school in the winter and spring. Rather than trying to memorize facts and formulas like she was failing to do for Math and Science, it was simple logic: What do traffic signs mean? What do you do if there aren't automated guards at a railroad crossing? How long is it appropriate to wait at a stop sign before moving again?

A lot of it was simple and even instinctive, which Valerie could appreciate. And the written tests were even a breeze: if she got any of the answers wrong, they had been marked so she could study those specific areas of the test. She hadn't been able to practice as many hours as she said she had, having no available over-eighteen to escort her when her dad was working, but she was finally down to the last two hours and the actual final practical test. Which she hoped to get all done with today.

If Danny Fenton could ever be bothered to show up.

"Don't stress yourself too much," Mr. Lancer advised, opening the glove compartment and pulling out a pair of sunglasses, which he offered to Valerie, who took them uncertainly while he fished out another pair. "Students doing concurrent enrollment is great for the colleges; they can do write-offs on their taxes by offering classes free-of-charge, but they teach you like you're already college kids. If it's too hard for you, though, you get the added bonus of not losing out on money. Just credit."

Valerie nodded, considering. She was glad that if she failed it wouldn't lose her any money. How on earth was she going to manage when it was really time for her to go to college? Was it even something she wanted anymore?

"It doesn't have to be difficult. Work smarter, not harder." Mr. Lancer smiled, and looked behind her head, waving.

Danny Fenton ran into the door behind her before opening it. "Sorry I'm – Sorry I'm late." He was trying to get in the car and close the door at the same time, in a feat of coordination he simply didn't possess. "I got – I got held up with something and – and man, it's hot!" He had seemingly touched the metal of his seatbelt and it had burned him midsentence.

He was wearing full-length jeans, which Valerie thought was nuts in this heat, and had what looked like a freshly-scraped elbow he had forgotten about rubbing blood onto his shirt.

Valerie reached into the glovebox in front of Mr. Lancer, pulling out a napkin and thrusting it in his direction. "We've only been waiting an eternity," she growled, nonetheless satisfied when he saw what he'd done and hurriedly pushed the napkin to his elbow to staunch the bleeding.

Mr. Lancer did one better and procured a first-aid kit from under his seat, offering a large square bandage to Danny, and a tube of disinfectant. "Better late than never, Danny, but you remember the rule…?"

"Uhh….the rule…I was…I was late, so I….treat lunch?" Danny took the disinfectant first, smearing it quickly over his scrape, not even wincing, then trading it for the bandage.

"Excellent! Valerie, please pull off the shoulder and onto the road. We will take the freeway. But first roll up your window, please." Mr. Lancer buckled his own seatbelt, returning the first-aid kit to its place under his seat and positioning his foot over the auxiliary brakes as the car started to hesitantly move. "Remember to indicate your desire to merge…"

Valerie nodded, flipping the turning signal, and turning her head to check her blind spot for oncoming traffic as she pulled forward, slowly getting the car up to speed.

Danny was silent, probably sheepish about being so late, but spoke up when Mr. Lancer started to direct her toward the nearest freeway onramp.

"Um…that…that particular onramp may or may not…be under sudden renovation," he offered as Valerie flipped the turning signal again.

Mr. Lancer instructed her to continue straight until they could find an alternate onramp. He had progressed to verbal instruction only, and Valerie found it disconcerting to have to change her expectation in the middle of a direction.

-o-

AUTHORS NOTE

Sorry this one sorta abruptly...ended. I wanted to post it, though. I just couldn't keep going. Whelp, here you go!

I really like Valerie. She's a cool bean. I dig her, man.

This would be... right before series end canon? Maybe?

The previous one I pictured firmly post-series, post Phantom Planet, maybe? idk. Ooh, or maybe I could have them in the same universe. That would be cool. (Remember that time I'm, like, a discovery writer? And I don't really know what's gonna happen next?)

In order to write more for this, I should watch the series again, and I'm not about that life, right now, but...soon. All my cartoons. XME, DP, TT, YJ...all of them. I wanna write, after all. So. Yeah.


End file.
